


Take me to Snurch

by doorwaytoparadise, Nara



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley has a penis, Digital Art, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Illustrated, Introspection, M/M, Sacrilege, Smut, aziraphale has a penis, specifically Jewish sacrilege, the author is Jewish so she wrote what she knew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nara/pseuds/Nara
Summary: Crowley hot-foots it across time as he attempts (and fails) to walk on consecrated ground throughout history, and all the while wonders what it really means to be a demon.With a little love, a little sacrilege, and little worship by an angel, Crowley figures it out.For the Do It With Style Good Omens Mini-bang!Words by NaraArt by doorwaytoparadise
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 66
Collections: Good Omens Mini Bang





	Take me to Snurch

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Snurch! (That is, Snake Church). 
> 
> Notes from Nara: I had this idea when I was listening to Hozier's "Take me to Church" one day. Basically, my brain just said "Snurch" instead of "Church" and I ran with it. Pretty much you don't need to change any of the lyrics except for that one minor word change to make it about Crowley and Aziraphale. I had a lot of fun writing this piece and doorwaytoparadise's art is BEAUTIFUL. I hope you enjoy it! My tumblr is [girl-in-the-library.tumblr.com](https://girl-in-the-library.tumblr.com) . I post a lot of miscellaneous things including Good Omens, Yuri! on Ice, memes, and shitposts.
> 
> Notes from doorwaytoparadise: I had such a fun time creating art for this brilliant fic! I do a lot of Good Omens art, so come find me on tumblr as sungmee!

_Egypt, c. 1500 B.C.E_

Crowley took one step into the Temple of Ra and hissed, pulling back as if burned. The priest, already a few steps ahead, turned back to look at Crowley.

“Is the God displeased with our Temple?” he asked, fearful and suspicious of the hiss in Crowley’s tone.

“It’sssssss fine,” Crowley failed to stop the extended “s” from creeping into his voice. The priest wavered.

“My Pharaoh? If you would follow me into the Sanctuary so you can let me know the desires of the God?”

Crowley put weight on his foot gingerly. “Of course. Proceed.”

Crowley had disguised himself as a ghostly form of the recently passed Pharaoh. His assignment was to sow discord by informing the Egyptians they were worshiping the Sun God incorrectly, and his wrath was imminent. It hadn’t been too difficult an assignment until this point. Crowley wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but the temple seemed to stop him from entering. He knew there wasn’t a real Ra, so it wasn’t as if his pretending would anger a real deity. He wasn’t going to be struck down, he knew that.

 _Where would I even go, anyway?_ he thought, _back to Hell?_

He hated being in Hell, but it’s not like he couldn’t get out again.

Crowley strode confidently through the archway and then shrieked. His feet felt like they were on fire. He tripped over himself scrambling backwards out of the pyramid. Something was niggling in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why this was happening. He just knew it didn’t make sense.

“How dare you prevent your Pharaoh from entering his own temple!” Crowley roared, covering the pain he felt with as much righteous indignation as he could muster.

The priest scrambled back out of the pyramid and prostrated himself before Crowley, “Forgive us, my Pharaoh! We have prepared only the holiest of holy consecrated ground to build your temple on! The machinations of the God Apep[1] must have snuck his way in to desecrate it, and defile your mere presence with his hiss!”

 _Holy_. The word struck a chord within Crowley, and the proverbial lightbulb that hadn’t been invented yet went off above his head. This was consecrated ground. Even if it wasn’t for worshiping the real God, She allowed it to be blessed.

And Crowley couldn’t enter consecrated ground.

Crowley thought quickly. “Consssssecrated, yeah? Right. But here I am, your Pharaoh, of courssssse…but I’m a ssssssspirit! A ghossssst, you sssssssseeee? Holy and ghossssst – bad combination right there. Yup. Assssss…assssss someone who hassssss already passsssssed on, I cannot accessssssss the holy light of Ra under my own power. Ssssssooooooo…yeah. Consssssecrated ground, isssss, uh, off limitsssssss”

Crowley had to hide a wince at the elongated hissing in his voice. The pain in his feet was really distracting, and he knew the hiss discomfited the priest, who had raised his head from its bow, eyeing Crowley warily.

“You…can’t walk on holy ground?” the priest asked.

“That’s right.” Crowley was proud of himself for getting his voice under control.

The priest stood up. “And your hissing…that’s because…?”

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know. It’s a…Pharaoh thing.”

“A Pharaoh thing?”

“Yup.”

The priest had backed slowly until he was through the entrance to the pyramid’s sanctuary. He took a deep breath and looked Crowley in the eye. “Forgive me if I am too impudent, but I do not believe you are my Pharaoh anymore.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. His plan had gone to shit but he could see what this priest was going on about before he wrote it off as a total loss. “If I’m not your Pharaoh, who am I?”

The priest swallowed his fear and solidified his stance. “You are the God Apep, or his servant, and you have come to wreak havoc on our lands and destroy the God Ra and upset the balance of Ma’at! Foul snake, you cannot cross this boundary and I will find a way to destroy you before you harm us any further!”

Crowley smirked. Apep, snake god of chaos? Sounded about right. Crowley decided to lean into it. His pupils narrowed to slits and he strode forward, stopping at the line of the sanctuary entrance.

“You really went for it there, didn’t you, my friend? What if you had been wrong? What if I hadn’t been an incarnation of Apep?” Crowley grinned wickedly, allowing just a perception of pointed fang to sneak in. The priest cowered but did not move. Crowley turned his back on the man.

“You’re right,” he said, shrugging as he walked away casually, “I’m not your Pharaoh. I’m not even a ghost. Maybe I’m Apep. Maybe I’m not. But I am certainly here to cause trouble. My question now is…” Crowley glanced over his shoulder and winked, “What are you going to do about it?”

With that, he transformed into a giant snake and slithered around until he was facing the priest once again. Rising up on his coils, Crowley bared his fangs and struck at the priest, stopping before crossing onto the consecrated ground. Even knowing that the snake before him could not cross into the pyramid without causing himself harm, the priest screamed and fled into the temple. Crowley flicked his tongue and returned to a more humanoid form. He didn’t bother to disguise himself as the ex-Pharaoh any longer; that ship had sailed.

He didn’t much care that his plans had been thwarted, he could just as easily cause mayhem in a new role as Apep. He was more concerned about his poor feet, and the fact that apparently the Egyptian Gods, false idols though they were, were holy enough to have consecrated ground that burned. That was something he would need to remember for the future.

As he strolled casually, or at least as casually as he could with bleeding feet, out of the Valley of Kings and back towards the main town, Crowley figured he could take the night off. That priest was sure to cause a ruckus, and he could start a little more chaos in the morning. What he really wanted was a bath and a drink. He’d heard the Angel was around doing some sort of blessing with the Hebrew children. Maybe Crowley could tempt him to a bottle and rile him up a little bit. That was always good fun.

New plan in mind, Crowley’s thoughts strayed from the pain in his feet to things he could do to ruffle the Angel’s feathers. He was whistling by the time he arrived back in town and set forward to find his next entertainment.

* * *

_Gaul, c. 250 B.C.E._

Crowley lingered at the edge of the clearing, uncomfortable. He had arrived in Gaul to create a little tumult among the Druids. They were judges, teachers, and priests. Quite corruptible, if you think about it. All that “debate” about “ideas” – it was simple to put a contentious thought into someone’s head, to tempt them into a drink and talk their ear off about the devil and divine restrictions, but infernal pleasures. Maybe cause a few judges to unjustly imprison some people, or take the “bless” out of a priest’s blessing.

Besides, it’s not like another demon could have been admitted into the Druidic order. Could you imagine _Hastur_ or _Ligur_ having the patience, let alone the brainpower, to become learned enough to be accepted by the druids? They would have murdered someone, or been murdered by the druids themselves before five years had even passed.

Speaking of murder…t _his_ though, was taking things too far. Crowley hadn’t heard about the human sacrifices when he took the job in Gaul. He knew that such sacrifices were quite a demonic thing to do, and they were mostly sacrificing criminals…but even to Crowley such murder was gauche. Reprehensible, even. He felt sick that he might have contributed to creating some of those sacrifices by corrupting the judges. He had to say something or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, and he had a long time to have to live with himself. Crowley paused, rolling his eyes internally. Whoever had heard of a demon with a conscience? Let alone a demon who balked at directly killing people? Some demon he was. But that was a thought for another time. Crowley straightened his robes, which had wrinkled as he paced and worried.

“Brothers!” He proclaimed. The Druids in the clearing turned to look at him, pausing in the preparation of the fire underneath the giant wicker man into which the sacrifices were stuffed.

“Is this really necessary?” Crowley gestured to the wicker man.

The Druid Chief raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that we…stop…the sacrifice? You realize that is completely sacrilegious, correct?”

Crowley nodded vigorously, “Yeah, but, uh, it’s just that _human_ sacrifice, that makes us murderers too, doesn’t it? And…AH! FUCK!”

Crowley stepped into the clearing and immediately fell backwards, his feet burning. He stared up at the sky through the circle of trees at the edge of the clearing. The Druid Chief approached and peered over him.

“Crowley, are you all right?”

Crowley sat up. “Ssssure, I’m all right. Let me jusssst…” he crawled on his hands and knees back towards the line where the trees met the field. He took a deep breath, planted his palm firmly in the bare grass and then immediately yanked it back, yelping. His hand was red and beginning to blister.

“Fuck! Sssshit! Fuck!”

The other druids were approaching, wondering why their new brother was swearing so profusely.

The Chief Druid turned to them. “I believe our new brother is being punished by the Gods for attempting to stop the sacrifice. Do you understand now, Crowley?”

 _Punished by the Gods_.

The words rang in Crowley’s ears as he suddenly realized what was happening. He stood up abruptly.

“It’s a…it’s a fucking _field_!” He shouted, face turned upwards towards the sky, “It’s just a…just a piece of grass! It’s not even a building![2] How can you allow an entire bloody fucking field to be consecrated? How can you allow an entire bloody fucking field that _has been and is about to be used for human sacrifice again_ to be consecrated! Just…G-Satan! Fuck!”

Crowley cradled his burned hand against his chest and turned to walk away. The Chief Druid lay his hand on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Perhaps you have not studied long enough, brother. You’ve only been in training for about 10 years. Perhaps we admitted you to the order too soon. If you return to your studies you will surely become enlightened enough to rejoin the order.”

Crowley frowned, turning back to look at the clearing. The rest of the druids were returning to prepare the fire, curiosity satisfied. Crowley also knew that the Chief Druid’s suggestion was not really a suggestion, but a command to return to his studies. He would not be able to return to the order until the Chief Druid saw fit to readmit him.

“Fine,” he said, “You’re right. I’ll…I’ll study more.”

Crowley figured he could still do his job and create some chaos without being involved in the major ceremonies. Tempting the scholars before they became full druids could also be very fulfilling.

Crowley tried to ignore the screams of the burning humans as the wicker man was set on fire. Tightening his own burned hand into a fist, he hissed in pain.

“It’s a bloody fucking clearing. They don’t even believe in Her!” he grumbled to himself, “Coulda gotten the hell burned out of me, there. Consecrated ground, my ass. She lets anything be consecrated, does she now? Fucking stupid, is what it is…”

Stomping back through the woods, Crowley returned to his home. He wouldn’t let this prevent him from doing his work. He loved his job…he loved his job.

Crowley gritted his teeth. He loved his job…most of the time.

* * *

_Jerusalem, c. 1099_

Crowley stood next to Aziraphale on a hill looking over the Crusaders encampment. They both looked worried.

“Are you sure this is something your side should be doing?” Crowley asked, “Seems more like something my side would do…”

“I’m sure She has a reason for this, er, this crusade. The Great Plan requires trust,” Aziraphale wrung his hands in worry, but touted the party line.

“Trust, huh? Like in Sodom? Or with the Ark? Slaughtering all the First Born in Egypt after allowing all the Hebrew boys to be killed? All that big ol’ Old Testament wrath?”

“The Holy Mother loves all her children…” Aziraphale began, but couldn’t think of a way to finish the sentence.

“All her children,” Crowley scoffed, “She hasn’t loved all her children since Satan first Fell.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished, but Crowley noticed he didn’t disagree.

The two of them watched as the Crusaders began marching. Within moments, the bloodshed had begun. Aziraphale turned away, unable to watch.

Crowley rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, “Well, angel, let’s get going.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him, “Going? Where?”

“To help, of course,” Crowley said like it was obvious, as he began to walk away.

Aziraphale hurried after him, “To help? The crusaders?” he sounded alarmed.

Crowley stopped and turned to look at him. “What? No. That’s Heaven’s plan. And I’m all about bollocks-ing up Heaven’s plans. You know me. Temptation. Evil. Stopper of all things holy. And what’s more demonic that stopping a holy army?”

Frowning, Aziraphale took a small breath, “But…but what about me? I can’t…I can’t go against Her plan Crowley. It’s ineffable. I just can’t. You know that. Even if…even if…”

Crowley waited, but Aziraphale didn’t finish his thought.

Scratching the back of his head, Crowley frowned, “You could, ah, do some general blessings? Heal the broken ground in a sacred city?”

Aziraphale frowned back, “I suppose…as long as I don’t directly interfere…even if…my place here is part of the ineffability…?” he trailed off again, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation, but unwilling to go against the Heavenly Host.

Crowley knew when not to push. Sometimes he pushed anyway. That was his thing, pushing boundaries. But he knew if he pushed now when Aziraphale already felt vulnerable, the angel would lock up completely and begin to push Crowley away and that was not something he wanted.

Crowley liked Aziraphale. He had since the Garden when the angel surprised him with “I gave it away!” He knew this was an angel who was different, who was up for doing what was truly right, not just what Heaven said was right. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t brainwashed by the Heavenly Host. He was afraid, and Crowley understood that.

Of course, there were potential other feelings that he was also repressing, but that was something that he didn’t need to think about now. He needed to get Aziraphale down into Jerusalem so he could help, because not doing anything would tear Aziraphale apart, even if he didn’t believe he could go against God’s so-called Great Plan. Maybe blessing the city would help, if he couldn’t directly help the victims of the Crusade.

“Come on, angel. I’ll try and stop the soldiers from completing their holy duty. You’ll try and stop me from stopping them by blessing the general area, or something like that, yeah? It’ll give them luck.”

Aziraphale was slowly coming around, “I suppose if I was…thwarting you…and…some lives got saved or blessed in the process…that wouldn’t be going against God’s plan, would it?”

Crowley grinned, “‘Course not! Thwarting my demonic wiles, that’s what your job’s all about, isn’t it?” He waggled his eyebrows and Aziraphale offered him a soft smile.

“In that case, my dear, let’s get going while the day is still young.”

Aziraphale followed Crowley down towards the city. Crowley got to work immediately – a quick snap of his fingers caused some Crusader swords to shatter against shields, or fall to the ground and get irreparably dented by rocks. A battalion leader was struck in the head by a friendly-fire arrow and crumpled to the ground, sending his soldiers into chaos. Crowley winced internally at directly causing the death, but justified it by counting the lives he saved. He wouldn’t need to justify it to hell in his report – death and chaos were their MO.

Crowley and Aziraphale stuck to the shadows, keeping out of sight of the crusading soldiers and the innocent people of Jerusalem.

A frown was etched into Aziraphale’s face and his eyes were watering, “Oh. Oh dear.”

Crowley gently laid his hand on Aziraphale’s arm, “Better get to blessing, angel.”

Worry swam behind Aziraphale’s wet eyes, but he leaned down and touched the cobblestone beneath his feet. He whispered a blessing under his breath that all those who tread on it received the luck of Her holy light.

Immediately, Crowley felt a sizzle beneath his feet. He yelped, jumping into the air, before landing back onto the burning ground.

“Aziraphale! What – you…you blessed the bloody ground!”

Aziraphale looked confused. “Why, yes. I thought that if I blessed the ground that it would create a holy aura which would allow safety and security in Her True Vision…so I’m supporting her goal, without interfering with any of the individuals involved! Head office will understand completely.”

Aziraphale seemed proud of himself for his work-around logic. Crowley would have been proud – if he wasn’t hopping from foot to foot with burning soles.

“You consecrated the ground, Aziraphale! Consecrated!”

Aziraphale’s face morphed into a combination of embarrassment and horror, “Oh, my! Oh dear boy, I had no idea it would have this effect. I wouldn’t have thought…I couldn’t imagine…I’m so sorry…”

Crowley grit his teeth, “Tell me you didn’t bless the entire bloody city, angel.”

Aziraphale looked contrite, “Well…”

“Angel. Please.”

Frowning, Aziraphale looked out towards the city, then back towards Crowley, who was beginning to sweat and grimacing in pain. Making a decision, he swooped Crowley into his arms. Crowley squawked and clung to Aziraphale’s shoulders tightly.

“What are you…? What? Aziraphale, put me down!”

Aziraphale began walking back out of the city, “I’ll put you down when you can walk on your own again. It’s my fault that you can’t walk in the city, and we’ve caused enough help and mayhem, so we are going back to our own camps and you will rest your feet.”

Crowley grumbled another token protest.

Aziraphale shook his head, “Tut tut! I’ll hear none of that. It’s my fault you burned your feet, so I will carry you until it is safe.”

Crowley turned his head in towards Aziraphale to hide a secret smile. He got the feeling the Aziraphale knew anyway.

“Fine,” Crowley said, adjusting his hold on Aziraphale, “But since it’s your fault I’m in this predicament, you’re coming to mine, and you’re gonna bring the wine.”

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley hummed, satisfied. In spite of his blistering feet, this was turning into a very good night after all.

* * *

_London, c. 1837_

Crowley lounged in the back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop and casually flipped through a copy of the Book of Mormon. Aziraphale sat next to him primly and sniffed.

“I thought you didn’t read,” Aziraphale said sarcastically.

“I don’t,” Crowley looked up and smirked, “But this, this is interesting.” He tapped the back of his hand on the book for emphasis, “Not strictly correct, you know, but not a true perversion of Her word. It’s bloody brilliant, is what it is. Almost wish I thought of it myself.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow, “And why is that? I would have thought spreading Her word in any capacity to be in direct conflict with your purview.”

“Conflict is exactly what it is!” Crowley grinned wickedly.

Aziraphale shook his head, “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

Crowley leaned forward into Aziraphale’s personal space, “It causes conflict. Conflict by creating choice. Humans get to choose what to believe, yeah? Some of them are right, and some of them are wrong, of course, but _they_ don’t know that. And the different factions of religion sow dissent. Sure there are a couple…thousand wars fought over religion, but that’s not something I, er, anyone, can really help at this point. But simple theological arguments? They bring irritation and anger into the world, which makes everyone’s day just a little bit worse. Brilliant.”

Frowning, Aziraphale shifted away from Crowley. “Ah, typical demonic behavior then. I don’t know what else I expected.”

“I’m a demon, ‘course it’s demonic.”

Crowley really loved his job when he got to sow discord, not so much when it called for the death of humans. After they died, he didn’t really care if they went to heaven or hell, if he was honest. But he didn’t want to be the cause of death. That wasn’t quite demonic of him, but no one ever said he was a typical demon.

He liked to think of himself as quite atypical, actually. Not that it made any difference to the angel. Crowley frowned at Aziraphale’s back as he stood and turned to walk towards the small kitchen, presumably to get tea or some such. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.

“Field trip!” Crowley exclaimed.

Aziraphale turned around to regard Crowley, “I beg your pardon?”

“The missionaries just came here, yeah? That’s how you got the book. But they’ve been in America for a few years. We can go explore!”

“Why would we do that?” Aziraphale questioned.

“Well…” Crowley thought for a moment, “Curiosity?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Crowley.”

“Yeah, angel. But satisfaction brought it back.”

Aziraphale hmphed. “Is there any more substantial reason than curiosity? I do admit to wondering, but I can’t waste a miracle on popping over to America for an afternoon.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Fine. You can call it, what’s the, what’s the word…reconnaissance! Learning about the new religion so you can see how to save people, or something like that. And I’ll do the miracle, don’t trouble your pretty little angel head over it.”

Aziraphale flushed at Crowley’s teasing comment, but acquiesced to the field trip idea. “Very well. As long as I don’t have to do any paperwork.”

Standing up, Crowley grinned, and wrapped an arm casually around Aziraphale’s shoulders. The angel stiffened, and Crowley tried not to flush at the casual contact he initiated. “Come on, angel, it’s easier to transport both of us if we’re touching. And I promise I won’t do anything untoward.” Crowley leered to cover up his pounding heart.

Aziraphale swatted Crowley’s hand as he relaxed. “Oh fine, you fiend. Let’s go.”

And if Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulders as he snapped them to America, Aziraphale pretended not to notice.

_Fayette, New York **[3]**_

Crowley and Aziraphale wandered around the small town, looking for the Mormon church. They weren’t quite dressed in the same fashion as everyone else, so they caught quite a few stares. Both pretended not to notice.

It wasn’t long before they found what could only be described as a church-like building. Otherwise nondescript, it didn’t appear much different from small town churches of other religions. They hovered uncertainly for a while at the gate of the churchyard.

“Can we just…go in?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked around, “Don’t see why not. Not like anyone is stopping us.”

Crowley took a step into the churchyard and yelped. Having experienced the sensation before, he knew what was happening, this time around.

“Conssssecrated!” he hissed, “It’s bloody consecrated! Every time! Every fucking time…I should know better by now…” he trailed off into a disgruntled mumble as Aziraphale looked on, concerned.

“Are you quite all right, my dear?”

Crowley sighed and gingerly put weight back on his slightly-burned foot. “Yeah, angel. ‘M fine. It’s just…every single time I think, ‘oh, She can’t have allowed _this_ type of church to have consecrated ground, it’s not the Truth,’ I get a roaring fire up through my foot. Should just assume all ground is consecrated, at this point.”

Aziraphale looked thoughtful, “Well, at least with this church it’s based in Her religion, so I suppose it does make sense that the churchyard is consecrated.”

“Coulda thought of that before we made the field trip,” Crowley grumbled.

“It certainly should have been something _you_ thought of, I believe, having had much more experience with walking onto consecrated ground when you should not.” Aziraphale answering sniff made Crowley role his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Not your responsibility, angel, I get it. Let’s just…go back?”

Aziraphale looked put out. “We’ve only just arrived! And I haven’t had a chance to do any, as you put it, reconnaissance? Surely, we can spend a few hours here. It’s nearly lunchtime and last time I was in America they had delightful little cakes.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t you hear? There was just a riot in New York City a few months ago over flour[4]. I’m not sure if they will have the same cakes. Though they probably will have something…the riot was successful.”

“A riot over flour?” Aziraphale looked aghast, “Not your doing, I hope?”

“I just implied that they raise the prices a bit…or…a lot. The humans did the riot all on their own,” Crowley grinned, “nothing like letting humans do all the hard work of it.”

Sighing, Aziraphale began walking in the direction of a quaint general store he had seen down the road. “Well, let’s at least pick up some sweets. American penny candy is quite delightful. And maybe some ice for your foot?”

Crowley was already walking besides Aziraphale, his gait back to its usual saunter. “No need, angel. Foot’s just fine, now. I just have to remember not to walk in places I should know there is consecrated ground.”

Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm, “I’ll try my best to help you remember, my dear.”

Crowley smiled.

* * *

_London, c. 1941_

_Crowley strutted into the church. Only, it was less like strutting and more like hopping from foot to foot._

_“Sorry! Consecrated ground. Ow! It’s like being on the beach in bare feet.” **[5]**_

_Now that Crowley thought about it, “being on the beach in bare feet” hurt a lot less than walking on consecrated ground had in the past. He really should look into that, but there were more pressing matters at hand._

_“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale hissed._

_“Stopping you getting into trouble,” Crowley replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. To him, at least, it was._

_“I should have known, of course, these people are working for you!” Aziraphale surmised, incorrectly._

_“No!” Crowley shouted, offended, and a little hurt, “They’re a bunch of half-witted nazi spies running around London, blackmailing and murdering people. I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.”_

_“Mr. Anthony J. Crowley, your fame precedes you,” one of the half-wits interrupted._

_“Anthony?” Aziraphale was confused._

_Crowley was ready to change his name in an instant, “You don’t like it?”_

_“No, no. I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale placated, “I’ll get used to it.”_

_“The famous Mr. Crowley,” another spy continued, as if her input was important to Aziraphale and Crowley’s conversation in any way whatsoever, “Such a pity you both must die.”_

_“What does the J stand for?” Aziraphale continued his questioning._

_“Uh, it’s just a J, really.”_

_As the nazis continued to threaten to kill them, interrupting what Crowley thought should have been a spectacular reunion, Crowley dropped a bomb on the church and Aziraphale saved the two of them with a miracle. More importantly, Crowley saved Aziraphale’s books, with “a little demonic miracle” of his own._

_If Crowley had bothered to look back after offering Aziraphale a ride, he would have seen several emotions flit across the angel’s face: shock, confusion, understanding, and love, ending with the same besotted grin that Crowley had been giving Aziraphale for centuries. But Aziraphale schooled his features into something more neutral by the time he met Crowley at the Bentley._

He took a seat, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

The silence was interrupted, predictably, by Aziraphale.

"I suppose I should thank you,” he began.

Crowley growled, “You absolutely should not.”

Aziraphale fell quiet and the silence continued. It wasn’t long before Aziraphale found it completely unbearable.

“How are your feet?” he blurted.

“My feet?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, er…” Aziraphale stumbled over his words, “You were hopping up and down in the church. Said it felt like _being on the beach in bare feet_. Did you get burned?”

Crowley pumped the gas pedal, considering. As the car flew down the road, Aziraphale gripped his bag of books tightly. Crowley eased up on the gas as he noticed there was no pain at all caused by the sudden jamming of his foot against the pedals.

“That’s curious…” he muttered.

“What’s curious, my dear?”

“M’feet don’t hurt.”

“Don’t hurt?”

“Yeah…” Crowley trailed off into a contemplative silence and Aziraphale held his breath.

“Do y’think…” Crowley began, glancing sideways at Aziraphale before quickly looking back at the road, “Do you think that’s a good thing?”

Aziraphale was confused. “Why would no pain be a bad thing?”

Crowley gripped the steering wheel tightly, unsure how to communicate the sudden fear that pounded in his chest. The church ground was consecrated. It should have burned him – it _did_ burn him…but barely.

“I’m not good, angel. I’m evil. _A demon_. My feet should hurt. Well, more than they did. That was a church. A church with bloody holy water in it for Satan’s sake! I was burned by a druidic field back in the day! A field! She consecrated a field for a religion that isn’t even part of Her word and I practically burst into flames, but now a real church can’t even give me a sunburn?”

“I still don’t see how that’s a bad thing, my dear.”

“Course you don’t,” Crowley muttered, then sighed. “Listen…I’m not…any less of a demon, am I?”

“Of course not,” Aziraphale responded instinctively, “You’re positively malicious. You just dropped a bomb on a church! With people in it! Even if those people were nazis…and you did save my books…oh…hrm.”

Crowley drooped.

“But…but! Of course you’re still a demon! Maybe it was because you weren’t the most evil one in the church? There were nazis, after all.” Aziraphale attempted to reassure Crowley, but it fell flat.

“Maybe…”

“You were still hopping up and down like a lunatic, my dear. It obviously still affected you.”

“I know,” Crowley sighed, “But, angel, how would you feel if suddenly you couldn’t, I don’t know…couldn’t…couldn’t…” Crowley sighed again, unable to come up with a suitable comparison. “What if you just felt like you were less of an angel?”

Aziraphale stared down at his bag of books. “I do, sometimes.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale sharply, swerving, and nearly avoiding a fire hydrant. “You what?”

“I feel like less of an angel. The Head Office…they…look down on…my penchant for more human pleasures. Food, wine, books…they’re all _unnecessary indulgences_. I’ve been reprimanded more than once for being _too human_.”

“You’re not, you know.” Crowley said.

“Not what?”

“Too human. Er…less of an angel. You’re the most angelic angel I know. Most of them are a bunch of wankers.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished, but he couldn’t hide his slight smile. “You’re not either. Less of a demon, I mean. As much as it pains me to… _praise_ the idea of being demonic, you’re still the same old wily serpent who tempted Eve all that time ago in the garden.”

Crowley grinned, “Universe’s worst demon and best angel, are we?”

Aziraphale looked tenderly at Crowley, eyes twinkling even in the car’s darkness. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

Once again they fell into silence, comforted by the other’s presence. All too soon, Crowley pulled up outside the bookshop.

“Well, this is your stop, angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t move for a moment. He turned fully to face Crowley and squared his shoulders, as if preparing to say something important. Crowley tensed, unsure of what might be coming.

“Crowley, I just want you to know that while I don’t…condone your more demonic behaviors, I really do think you are quite an excellent demon. You are my hereditary enemy and I…I couldn’t ask for a better one.”

Without waiting for a response, Aziraphale opened the door and practically fled from the car. He paused only momentarily to look back from the doorway of the bookshop. He gave Crowley half a wave and then disappeared inside.

Crowley wasn’t sure if he was smirking or smiling as he pulled away from the curb and headed home.

* * *

_London, c. 1992_

Crowley stumbled down the street in the rain, more than a little inebriated. He could easily sober up, but he was too upset, and the small amount of joy he received from being a drunken inconvenience was the only good thing about the situation.

“Stupid angel…stupid bloody _angels…_ with their dumb _rules_ and _regulations_ and _Crowley you’re a demon_ and stupid, bloody…bah!”

He slumped, a remarkable feat to achieve while walking; or at least it was until he tripped over a crack in the pavement and landed in the gutter. A couple of girls a little further down the sidewalk giggled and pointed, and Crowley gave them a drunken leer. They quickly scurried away.

Sighing, Crowley sobered up just a little bit. Being a drunken louse on his own wasn’t much fun, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to give up the haze of inebriation completely. If he did, he’d be forced to confront his feelings. He hung his head in his hands and continued grumbling to himself. He could almost hear the whispers and he could definitely feel the stares of passing humans, but Crowley was too tired to care. He felt defeated, and more than a little wet, which just added to his misery.

Suddenly, he felt the rain stop.

“Are you all right, my friend?”

Crowley looked up to see a man holding an umbrella over his head. The man was wearing a black hat with a flat brim, his _payot **[6]** _blending in to his long, gray beard. Crowley stared for a moment too long and the man tugged at his beard self-consciously. Crowley startled into a response.

“Ah…yeah. Thanks. I’m okay. Just…a bad night. I’ll just be on my way…”

Crowley quickly drained the alcohol from his system as he stood up, stumbling as he tried to push his way past. The man grabbed Crowley’s elbow.

“Please, come dry off and warm up for a moment first. The _shul_ is right there.”

The man gestured, and Crowley noticed the building just a block down the street. Crowley shook his head.

“Oh, no…no…I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense!” the man pulled Crowley under his umbrella and began guiding the demon towards the synagogue. “It’s Friday night and we’re about to have _Shabbos_ dinner. Come, come!”

Trying to pull away, Crowley scrambled for an excuse. “It’s all right, I’m not…I’m not Jewish.”

The man smiled. “All are welcome. And you look like you could use a friend tonight.”

 _Friend_. The word struck Crowley through the chest and he stumbled again. The man looked at him in concern. Crowley sighed, giving in.

“You’re right, I could use a…friend.”

“I’m happy to lend an ear,” the man smiled, “My name is Chaim.”

Crowley hesitated, “Uh, I’m Anthony.”

The two arrived outside the synagogue and stood under the overhang. Chaim closed the umbrella and shook it out. “Nice to meet you, Anthony. What has you slumped in a gutter on a Friday night?”

Unsure of how open to be, Crowley eventually decided he might as well bare his soul, to an extent. He would normally drink his feelings away with Aziraphale but, well…

“I had a fight with my…” _acquaintance? Crush? Hereditary enemy?_ “…friend. We, uh…he and I…have different…religious? backgrounds, and his…family…doesn’t like me. They think I’m a heathen, or…something. A bad influence on him. But they’re, uh, abusive, towards him. And my friend is unable to stand up to them. But he also defends them. It’s almost like…I mean, I know they’re his family. And I don’t expect him to….to…choose _me_ over _them_ , but. But I wish I knew my place in his life. I feel like I don’t…like I don’t belong.”

Chaim nodded sympathetically and opened the front door, touching his fingers to the _mezuzah_ and then his lips. “It sounds like you care about your friend a great deal. Have you told him how this makes you feel?”

Walking into the synagogue, Chaim held the door open for Crowley, who remembered right as he crossed the threshold that a synagogue would be consecrated ground. He bit back a hiss and fought to keep both feet on the ground as he felt the burn in his soles. It was another reminder that he was out of place. Aziraphale could walk here, he couldn’t. Aziraphale was good. He wasn’t. And while normally he reveled in his status as a literal bad-boy (or at least a bad being-presenting-as-a-boy), right now he was feeling more than a bit melancholy over the situation.

“Anthony?”

Crowley startled out of his thoughts, “I’m sorry, Chaim, what did you say?”

“Have you told your friend how you feel?”

Crowley leaned his weight on one foot, then the other, trying to get a little relief. “No, ah! I don’t want him to feel bad. It’sss…it’sss jussst something I have to deal with.”

“But if he’s your friend, surely he would want to know?”

Crowley clenched his jaw, letting out a breath through his teeth and rocking up on his toes to minimize the area of his foot touching the ground.

“Maybe we’re not…really friends. Maybe it’s just me who thinks we’re friends.”

Chaim watched Crowley fidget. “Anthony, this is definitely something you need to talk about. If you don’t know where you stand with this person, you’re going to give yourself an aneurism worrying. Why don’t you relax a moment? Come have dinner, everyone will be happy to have you. You can take a moment of space and then talk to your friend in the morning.”

Crowley was starting to sweat. He was remembering the last time he walked on consecrated ground – that Church where he rescued Aziraphale from the nazis during the Blitz – it’s not that his feet hurt _more_ than then…it still felt like walking on a hot beach in bare feet, but combined with his distressed emotional state, he was having a hard time tolerating it.

“Anthony? You don’t look well. Did you catch a fever in the rain?”

Crowley certainly felt like he was burning up. With shame, with disgust at himself for the shame, with something that used to be akin to hellfire but now was just like a sunburn at his feet…he just knew that he couldn’t stay in the synagogue a moment longer.

“I must’ve done. I better get going in that case…” Crowley began backing towards the door.

Chaim reached to stop him, but Crowley danced out of the way. “Anthony! We’ve only just arrived. At least dry off and let me get you some paracetamol!”

“Sorry, Chaim! Your hospitality is appreciated, but I’m gonna go have a good think about what I’m gonna say to my friend while resting off this fever in bed. Thanks for the advice, gotta go, bye!”

Crowley fled out the front door of the synagogue, leaving Chaim behind him, slightly agape.

The cool rain granted immediate relief as Crowley ran down the street, making his way to his flat. He would have to talk to Aziraphale, Chaim was right about that much. But he would try to keep most of his feelings out of it. First things first, though, he was going to sleep for a week. Maybe the angel would miss him, and things would fall back into a normal pattern easily.

Crowley could hope for that, at least.

* * *

_London, c. 2019_

Crowley was nervous. More accurately, he was terrified. He wasn’t sure when, but sometime soon Hell would come for him, and Heaven for Aziraphale. The two of them had helped stop the apocalypse. They were traitors to their respective sides. Heaven and Hell would come, and they would come soon.

Crowley walked around the bookshop, touching the spines of the books lightly. Everything was in its place, as well as some new additions, and it was as if there hadn’t been any fire at all.

Reaching for a book on the shelf, Crowley startled to see Aziraphale’s hand instead of his own. He recalled he was in Aziraphale’s body, not his own. He examined the perfectly manicured fingernails of his friend’s hands, flipping them over, looking at the fingers, the palm. He stretched the wrists, clenched the hands into a fist, and then relaxed the fist.

This was a new corporation – one provided to Aziraphale by the antichrist, not by Heaven. Crowley wondered if that made the body itself any different. He resisted the urge to check by patting himself down or stripping and looking in the mirror. He would not take liberties with Aziraphale’s body, and that was besides the fact that it had been a couple of millennia since he had seen his friend without any clothes and wouldn’t know if something was different anyway. Since public baths had gone out of style, he and Aziraphale hadn’t taken to hanging around naked, and in fact, Aziraphale just became more buttoned-up as the centuries went on. So, no matter how much he enjoyed the looking at the human form, no matter how much he wanted to see Aziraphale’s form in particular, now was not the time, and it would be a breach of trust.

Crowley sighed, willing the tension out of his shoulders. It didn’t work. This body wasn’t as fluid as his own, and his snake-y form didn’t fit so well into its solidity. Crowley suddenly felt claustrophobic. What if this didn’t work? How could he pull of being Aziraphale well enough to trick the entire Heavenly Host? Could Aziraphale pull off enough of his own façade to keep hell in the dark? The fear threatened to choke Crowley, and he knew he needed to get out of the bookshop. It would be another hour before he was to meet Aziraphale in St. James park, but surely a walk wouldn’t hurt? As long as he could spend some time in a place that they wouldn’t think to look for him before he met with Aziraphale.

It took a moment, but then Crowley had an idea. Locking up the bookshop, he walked with a purpose, not stopping until he reached his destination. When he arrived, he took a moment to square his shoulders and take a fortifying breath.

Crowley looked up at the small, local church that he stood in front of. He wasn’t sure if he could actually walk in there – even if he was in Aziraphale’s body, he was still Crowley on the inside. But something had drawn him to the idea of a church and he was determined to try. He lifted his chin defiantly and walked in through the front door.

Crowley felt a tingling in his feet, like pins and needles. It was uncomfortable, staticky and buzzing, but it didn’t hurt. He let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding and walked further into the church.

It was quiet. If not for the anxiety thrumming through his veins, Crowley would have almost called it peaceful. It still felt unnatural, however, and he wasn’t sure if that was because he was a demon in an angel’s body in a church, or if it was just eerie being in a church where there were no people. He felt a weird sort of distaste for the calm, and a perfectly natural demonic distaste for the religious embellishments in the stained-glass windows. He nonetheless walked towards the altar slowly, looking carefully at each one. When he arrived at the front of the church, he stopped, looking at the large stained-glass that took up nearly the entire wall behind the pulpit. The image was of a light shining through the clouds, illuminating several people that were on their knees praying. It was almost generic. Crowley kind of liked that – it wasn’t proselytizing too much. It just sort of seemed to say “God is there for you.”

Before he even realized what he was doing, Crowley had sunk to his knees and bowed his head. The tingling spread up his legs but he didn’t get up. After a moment, Crowley lifted his head towards the stained-glass image in front of him.

It was odd for a demon to pray, but Crowley was an odd demon. And right now, praying was exactly what he felt like doing.

“Uh, hi…God…it’s me. Crowley…ya boi…” he laughed nervously, “You know. That’s a meme. Do You even know what memes are? You must. You’re God, You know everything. Or do You? You didn’t know that Satan was going to rebel…and You didn’t seem to know about the what would happen with the apple…and all of human history, unless You did, and You’re being a right bastard about it and it’s all ineffable anyways…”

Crowley realized he was babbling and being insulting all at once. He stopped talking and took a deep breath.

“But yeah. I don’t mean to, well, I don’t _really_ mean to insult You, but I am kind of mad. You left Aziraphale hanging, he trusted You to do the right thing. If it’s all ineffable, You can’t really mean to destroy all of humanity in a war between Heaven and Hell? You promised! After the Ark, remember? You…remember? And Aziraphale believed in You. Right up until the last minute. And…and he probably still does, for all I know! He may not believe in the good of Heaven anymore, but I can’t imagine he doesn’t believe that You know what’s right. And You don’t even talk to anybody anymore! It’s just…augh…I’m really making a mess of things.”

Crowley cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. He brought his hands together in front of him and closed his eyes. “Right, let’s start over. Do this all proper-like. So. Dear God, it’s me, Crowley. Demons don’t pray. But I suppose there’s a first time for everything. And it doesn’t even matter, because I’m not praying for myself. I’m praying for Aziraphale. I want to get through this, of course I do, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to die. But Aziraphale _can’t_ die. He did the right thing. You know he…we…did the right thing! Please don’t punish the only good thing to ever happen to this world. Aziraphale is a perfect angel. He loves humanity so much…he’s practically human himself, just with a little divine magic and the jaded bastardization that comes with being alive for millennia. But he’s always done the right thing! Even when it was the wrong thing! And You can’t…You can’t let him die. You just can’t. You can’t. Please…You can’t…”

Crowley trailed off and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. A few tears fell regardless of his best efforts. Crowley cleared his throat.

“Er…anyway. That’s…that’s all I have to say. I don’t even know if You’re still around, honestly, and I’m just one lowly demon…but I know that this world isn’t worth anything if Aziraphale isn’t in it. So…I, uh, hope you can hear me. And I hope that for once in the history of this whole bloody universe, _You_ do what’s right. So. Yeah.”

With that, Crowley stood up and brushed off his pants. He turned around and headed out of the church, glancing back at the stained-glass up front only once. It was time to meet Aziraphale and face the music.

The door to the church shut quietly behind Crowley as he left, and a heavy silence fell. The sunlight twinkled through the glass on the spot where Crowley had been praying.

Caught up in things as they were, Crowley hadn’t even noticed that some time during his prayer, his legs and feet had stopped tingling.

* * *

_Tadfield, c. 2021_

Crowley tugged aggressively at his tie as he looked in the mirror. Dressed head to toe in a long, white, gown, accented with a blue tie, he felt like more like angelic git than his typical self. The tie got more crooked the more he tried to straighten it. Eventually, he gave up on physically trying to straighten it and went to his old standby.

“Listen here you!” he growled, pointing into the mirror at the tie, “This is the best goddamn day of my entire life and you’re not going to ruin it by being out of place. So, Straighten! Up!”

Miraculously, or perhaps demonically, the tie straightened, and Crowley felt marginally better about the suit and the whole situation. Just in time, too, as there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Crowley called.

Anathema walked into the room and grinned widely. “Aren’t you looking spiffy?”

Crowley scoffed. “Spiffy? Only Aziraphale can get away with saying things like that. Stay in your lane, Book Girl.”

Anathema rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Crowley, you’ve known me for over two years. Surely you can call me by my name at this point?”

Smirking, Crowley walked towards Anathema and patted her on the cheek condescendingly, “Oh, Book Girl. You should know better by now.”

She rolled her eyes and linked arms with Crowley, “You’re right. I should. But now it’s time for you to get going. Your angel awaits! I’m here to escort you down the aisle.”

Crowley tried to wipe the dopey grin that appeared on his face at the mention of “his angel” before Anathema looked back at him. He didn’t quite succeed, but Anathema was kind enough to not say anything.

“Come on, then, lover boy. Let’s get going.”

Swallowing his sudden nervousness, Crowley did his best to look confident as he and Anathema walked out towards the backyard of Jasmine Cottage.

The little garden had been decorated to look like a small chapel. Benches lined both sides of an aisle, decorated with floral bouquets. Crowley frowned at some of the drooping leaves and wondering if he could get away with threatening plants that had already been cut. He decided not to bother.

It was his wedding day, after all.

As he arrived at the back of the aisle, he couldn’t help but swell with some of the more tender feelings that he had been repressing for most of his long, demonic life. He wished briefly for his sunglasses to hide the emotion in his eyes, but he didn’t want to miss a moment of this day. Filling the benches were people, people who, while he wasn’t sure he could call them friends, he knew he was glad that they were in his life.

On one side of the aisle sat the Youngs, who, while they couldn’t quite remember how they made the acquaintance of the eccentric couple getting married, appreciated their friendship and the way that they were somehow able to keep the children in line. They were conversing with Harriet Dowling, who was smiling with barely contained emotion shining in her eyes. She had thought that her gardener and nanny had been remarkably close, and though there had been a lot of changes in their lives (and appearances!), she was glad to see that things had worked out for the people who had helped her so much with raising her son. Harriet had been thrilled when Crowley had reached out to her shortly after Warlock’s eleventh birthday, explaining that his and Francis’s silence in the intervening years since their departure had been due to the peculiar circumstances that surrounded their current relationship, and reintroduced himself as Anthony Crowley, and Francis as Aziraphale Fell.

On the other side of the aisle, were Shadwell and Newt. While Shadwell had escorted Tracey to the wedding, she was nowhere to be seen, and Shadwell himself was currently arguing with Newt about witches. Newt was trying to tell him that his witchfinding method was fundamentally flawed, but Shadwell would hear none of it. His impassioned speech was interrupted as a group of five young teens ran through the benches and back towards Crowley and Anathema.

“Crowley! Anathema! Welcome to the Snurch!” Adam crowed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, “The Snurch?”

“It’s a portmanteau of _snake_ and _church_ , Nanny,” Warlock explained. “Because of your snake tattoo and eye thing, and also the fact that it isn’t a real church, even though Brother Francis…er…Aziraphale used to be, well, a Brother. But you were a satanist or something.”

“Something like that,” Crowley mumbled.

Anathema removed her arm from Crowley’s so she could hide a chuckle behind her hand. “Right, you can’t _stand_ churches, can you Crowley? And you are quite snake-y.”

Crowley shot her a glare. She was the only one who really understood exactly who he and Aziraphale were, besides Adam, though the rest of the Them, Newt, and Tracey had some sort of idea. Shadwell wasn’t quite convinced they weren’t witches, and Crowley was pretty sure the only reason he was attending was to try and find proof. But Warlock didn’t know, nor his mother, nor the Youngs. And he wasn’t about to explain exactly why Snurch was Absolutely Not Funny, so he bit his tongue, for now.

Adam grinned, seemingly knowing what Crowley was thinking. He gestured around him, “This is the Snurch,” he pointed to the makeshift altar under a lace canopy, “That’s sort of a sneeple…” he spun in a circle, “And if you look all around, you’ll see all the…sneople? That sounds the same as sneeple…” he trailed off.

“That’s Snake Church, Snake Steeple, and Snake People,” Wenslydale clarified unnecessarily.

Crowley scowled to hide his growing amusement, and lunged for Adam. Dancing out of reach, Adam turned and bolted, followed closely by a giggling Them and Warlock. Crowley had to resist the urge to run after them – he didn’t want to get all sweaty before the ceremony.

He watched the gathered humans with fondness for a moment before he loudly cleared his throat. “Oi! You lot! Settle down! Everyone take a seat, we’re about to start!”

Everyone quieted quickly, and an organist that may or may not have been there a moment ago started playing.[7]

Anathema tucked her arm into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. She looked up at him and smiled.

“You ready?”

Crowley nodded almost imperceptibly, suddenly unable to trust his voice.

“Let’s go, then.” Anathema gently tugged Crowley forward and he fell into step. The gathered crowd rose and watched them make their way down the aisle. After arriving at the altar, Anathema removed her arm and kissed Crowley on the cheek before going to take her place next to Newt.

“Thanks, Anathema,” Crowley whispered. Anathema inclined her head slightly to indicate that she heard him.

The music picked up into the traditional, “Here comes the bride,” and Crowley almost protested the not only cliché but inaccurate song choice, but he choked on his words when he looked up and saw Aziraphale. He completely stopped breathing.

Aziraphale was dressed in a sharp, modern, black tux with a red waistcoat. His eyes were lined with dark kohl. He looked remarkably stylish, Crowley might even say _devilish_ , and he could feel himself welling up when he realized that was probably the point of the outfit Aziraphale chose. Just like Crowley had chosen white and blue as a tribute to Aziraphale, he could tell that Aziraphale chose his outfit as a tribute to Crowley. It didn’t matter who was an angel and who was a demon – they were on their own side.

Crowley had been so focused on Aziraphale he hadn’t even noticed that Madame Tracey had been the one to walk him down the aisle until Aziraphale said, “Thank you, Marjorie,” and smiled at her with affection, but when Aziraphale turned to face him his smile became blinding. His eyes held nothing but love and openness, and Crowley was almost afraid of what was coming. But then Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands between his and Crowley melted.

This was the culmination of the last two years of gentle touches, shy romance, and requited affection. This was the culmination of centuries of drunken laughter and building ardor, even in spite of fear. This was the culmination of millennia of pining. This was the very human culmination of a love that began, whether they knew it or not, on the Eastern Wall in Eden. Crowley hadn’t been so happy since before he Fell. He was pretty sure he had never been this happy as an angel, either. He looked directly into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“I love you,” he mouthed.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hands tightly, eyes shining. “I love you too,” he mouthed back.

The angel and the demon didn’t take their eyes off of each other for the entirety of the officiant’s speech – parroting back what they were told to say when they were told to say it. They were both startled out of their reverie when the officiant had to ask three times for the vows.

Aziraphale went first.

“My dearest Crowley. I can’t say I ever would have expected this, though that is not to say I haven’t imagined it. I love you, and I have for a long time; one might even say centuries,” he glanced quickly at the audience full of humans who chuckled, before continuing, “But I was afraid. I was so very afraid. I was afraid of questioning everything that I had thought was ineffable. I was afraid of losing what I had. But most of all, I was afraid what would happen to you if we were found out. So, I pushed my feelings down so far that I denied I even felt them. And I pushed you away so many times, darling, I shut you out so often that I am surprised you were still here waiting when I came around. I…I don’t think I can ever make up to you all the years I have let you down. And I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me here, or have your reassurances, though I can see you are itching to disagree with me. I mean it honestly, my dear, I am so blessed that you forgave me for every time I have slighted you. You have been so kind – yes, you have, don’t make that face – you have been my rock, my only true support for a very long time, even when I’ve been too blind to see it. You’ve always been the only one for me. Crowley…I love you. I can’t say it any more simply. I love you. I love you, in spite of and because of yourself. I love that you think that gluing a coin to the sidewalk is the epitome of evil. I love that you and I can always understand each other, even when having arguments about whether ducks have ears or if dolphins are fish. I love that you always know what wine to choose, or what chocolates to get me. I love that you’re always there for me, even when I don’t deserve it. I love that you’re wily and cantankerous, that you’re sincere and wicked. I love every little thing that makes you _you_ , and I will spend the rest of my life and yours showing you exactly what that means.”

Crowley bit back a sob, squeezing Aziraphale’s hands tightly before doing his best to compose himself. His voice broke as he began.

“Aziraphale, _angel_ , my angel. I love you so much. I can’t…I’m not as good with words as you are, yeah? But I want you to know – waiting for you was never even a question for me. Even if you hadn’t wanted this…hadn’t wanted…me, I would always be there for you. You had…an abusive family. You couldn’t question. And I know. I understood that. And I also know I haven’t always been the easiest person to be around. Everything I was and am was the opposite of what you were told to believe in…and I take pride in that. But you are the most genuine being in the universe. I remember when we first met, when I told you something like _‘wouldn’t it be funny if I did the right thing and you did the wrong one?’_ and you didn’t think that was very funny at all. But I think you are absolutely incapable of doing the wrong thing. And I know I did the right thing that day, because it led me to meeting you. And even when…and even when you were being cold, you always saved space for me. You gave me as much as you could, at the time, and I love you so much for that. I love you for all that you are, and, like you said, in spite of, and because of, where you’ve been. I love everything about you. I love how fussy you are, how pretentious. I love how much you love doing good, regardless of consequences. I love that today is the only day I have seen you wear anything resembling modern fashion, and that your shop is more of a book collection than a bookstore. Aziraphale, I love you, and I will never let you go, now that you’ve said you’ll be mine. You’re stuck with me forever.”

Crowley winked at the end, covering up his sensitivity with a typical bluster, and Aziraphale’s answering smile was soft. Crowley brought Aziraphale’s hands to his lips and kissed them. He could feel the warmth and happiness radiating from the angel, and he himself couldn’t be happier.

The officiant cleared his throat.

“And with this, Anthony J. Crowley, do you take Aziraphale to be your lawfully wedded partner?”

Crowley smiled as he said, “I do.”

“And, uh, Aziraphale Z. Fell, do you take Anthony to be your lawfully wedded partner?”

“I absolutely do.”

“Then I now pronounce you partners. You may share your first kiss as a married couple!”

Cheers and applause erupted from the small crowd as Aziraphale dipped Crowley and kissed him tenderly. As Crowley straightened up, he knew that he had the biggest, dopiest, grin on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care who saw. He was _married_. To _Aziraphale_. And they had the rest of their very long lives to be together.

He couldn’t wait.

* * *

_Epilogue: A little house in the South Downs, c. 2021, aka the wedding night_

The door to the bookshop swung open and Aziraphale carried a giggling Crowley over the threshold. Crowley would have denied he was giggling, of course, and only Aziraphale would be able to prove otherwise.

Crowley brushed off his wedding dress when Aziraphale set him down. “You know, angel, we’ve lived here for over a year. You didn’t have to carry me over the threshold.”

Aziraphale took off his suit jacket and headed towards the bedroom to put it away. “Of course I did, my dear, it’s tradition.”

Crowley followed Aziraphale and leered at him from the doorway. “You know what else is tradition?”

Aziraphale, who had his head in the armoire as he hung his suit coat, had missed Crowley’s leer. But he didn’t miss the husky tone in his voice. Shutting the closet doors, he turned back to Crowley.

“Hmmm, we had the wedding. You smushed wedding cake in my face, we had our first dance as a couple…no…I can’t think of anything else,” Aziraphale teased.

Crowley’s footing was light as he ghosted across the floor towards the bed and positioned himself sensually on top of the sheets. “I believe, darling, you are forgetting about the wedding night,” he purred.

Aziraphale’s eyes darkened as he eyed Crowley spread out before him. Crowley smirked and quirked his finger in a _come-hither_ gesture, and Aziraphale chuckled. “You’re right. We can’t forget about the wedding night, now can we?”

As Aziraphale slowly walked towards the bed in a manner that can only be described as predatory, Crowley felt a thrill run up his spine. He would never tire of Aziraphale’s determination in everything, inside of the bedroom and out of it.

Aziraphale crawled up the bed until he was hovering over Crowley. Reaching down, he grabbed Crowley’s tie and tugged gently. “Now let’s get you out of your wedding dress, my dear. We would want to ruin your beautiful gown or sully the accoutrements,” he tugged on the tie again for emphasis.

Crowley leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale gently. Aziraphale responded with a sigh and pressed his own lips eagerly against Crowley’s, his grip on Crowley’s tie loosening. When he knew he wasn’t in danger of accidental strangulation, Crowley pushed against Aziraphale until the angel was on his back and Crowley was in his lap. Aziraphale’s hands gripped Crowley’s hips as the demon broke the kiss to start working on the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

“Now, now, dear,” Aziraphale chided, “I believe it was I who said _I_ wanted to undress _you_.” With a strong grip he turned Crowley around in his lap so the demon could no longer reach his waistcoat, but Aziraphale could reach the delicate zipper on the back of Crowley’s dress.

“No fair, angel!” Crowley whined, trying to turn back around, but Aziraphale’s grip was strong. “We’re partners, aren’t we? That means we get equal say in this relationship and I _equally_ want to get your clothes off.”

“You will, dear, in time. But first I need to show you just what Snurch is all about.”

Crowley stopped squirming in Aziraphale’s lap. “Er, what?”

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, “Did I not say it right? Snurch? Adam told me it was a portmanteau of snake and church and I thought it was rather clever but…”

Crowley interrupted quickly, twisting around as best he could to face Aziraphale, “Yes, angel, you said it right, but why on earth would you say that you’re going to show me what _snurch_ is all about right when we’re about to do the do?”

Aziraphale smiled a smile that should not have been as sexy as it was considering he was about to explain why he was talking about a silly made-up word.

“Well, my dearest,” he said, gently turning Crowley back around and leaning in to whisper directly into Crowley’s ear, “A church is a place of worship, correct? So logically, a snurch would be a place of worship for snakes, or a place of worship of a snake.”

Crowley shuddered as he felt Aziraphale’s breath on the nape of his neck, his words tickling Crowley’s ears. Arousal was building in his gut simply from the tone of Aziraphale’s voice. He swallowed and wet his dry lips with his tongue, “Your…your point, angel?”

“The point, you impatient thing, is that there is only one snake I wish to worship, and that snake is you. And I intend to worship you all night long.”

Crowley was rapidly losing control of his conscious thought, and he struggled to come up with a pithy comment, “So you called our marriage bed a snurch because…”

“Because it is a house of worship dedicated to the only being I ever plan on worshipping again,” Aziraphale responded succinctly, “And now I believe it is time for prayer service to begin.”

Aziraphale began leaving long, lingering kisses on the back of Crowley’s neck. He pulled the zipper of the wedding dress down slowly, baring Crowley’s skin to the cool air of their cottage. Aziraphale followed the path of the zipper with his lips, each kiss scorching Crowley’s skin. Crowley tugged on his own tie, still hanging loosely around his neck, and pulled it off, tossing it to the side. Aziraphale brought one hand around to Crowley’s front and ran it down the length of his torso.

“Impatient, my dear?”

“It was weird, anyway,” Crowley mumbled, “Wearing a tie with a gown. Tie got in the way. Didn’t match. Especially now. In the way, it was, I mean.” Wincing at his jumbled words, Crowley relaxed when Aziraphale kissed his nape.

“You looked striking, darling. I can see the…current inconvenience…but don’t let that cause you to regret your choices.”

Crowley blushed, “I could never regret my choices, angel, as they all led me here, to this moment, with you.”

Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder. His voice was muffled, but Crowley still heard him clearly as he said, “I may have many regrets about my past choices, but I will never regret the ones that led me to you.”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand that was still wrapped around him and he kissed his palm. “This is getting sappy. Wasn’t it supposed to be sexy? I definitely remember being promised something sexy,” he grumbled half-heartedly, conveniently ignoring that he was the one who started in with the mushy feelings.

Aziraphale chuckled warmly, “As you wish, darling.”

He slowly pulled the wedding dress down Crowley’s arms, the satin sleeves rubbing tantalizingly across Crowley’s skin, and letting it settle at Crowley’s hips where he was still seated in Aziraphale’s lap. Nudging Crowley to stand so he could help him out of the dress, Aziraphale chuckled again.

“We haven’t exactly done this very efficiently, now have we?”

Crowley stepped out of the dress and kicked it away, uncaring at this point where it landed or what condition it was in. He could always miracle it better, later.

“Nope!” Crowley said, popping the “P.” He stood before Aziraphale now wearing only delicate lace panties and a matching garter. His cock sat heavy in the panties, just beginning to stir, as Aziraphale stared at him like something to be devoured. Reveling in the attention, Crowley leaned all his weight on one hip and raised an eyebrow. “See something you like, stud?”

Aziraphale surged to his feet and grabbed Crowley at the waist, “Oh, very much so,” he all but growled.

Crowley whimpered, Aziraphale’s voice causing his cock to twitch in interest. Crowley licked his lips, “Well…well, what are you going to do about it?”

In a flash, Crowley was on his back on the bed, legs dangling over the sides, Aziraphale kneeling on the ground between them.

“As I said,” Aziraphale began, nuzzling the tender flesh of Crowley’s inner thighs, “I intend to worship you the way you deserve.”

Aziraphale took the garter between his teeth and pulled it down Crowley’s leg and off his foot. Tossing the garter to the side, he took the foot in hand and kissed the inside arch. Aziraphale continued a slow trail of kisses up Crowley’s calf, stopping occasionally to nip and nuzzle when he reached the thigh. Crowley squirmed beneath the romantic attentions and struggled to sit up. He was about to make a snarky comment when Aziraphale mouthed at his lace-covered cock.

Crowley moaned, Aziraphale’s warm breath causing contrasting shivers to run through his body. Looking up through his eyelashes at Crowley, Aziraphale smirked before kissing the head that was beginning to strain to get through the lace.

“Don’t be impatient, dear,” Aziraphale’s voice rumbled against Crowley’s thighs, sending vibrations directly to his cock.

Crowley whined and Aziraphale laughed, hooking his fingers under Crowley’s panties and pulling them down his legs and away.

Crowley’s cock jutted proudly, standing at attention and beginning to leak. Aziraphale’s own cock twitched in his pants at the sight.

“Beautiful,” he said.

Crowley was naked and embarrassed; he had never before felt so exposed. He knew Aziraphale was attracted to him in a way he had never been to anybody else, the angel had said as much. But he felt like he was being put on display, and while part of him reveled in the attention, another part was craving a clearer validation.

“Angel…” he began, but Aziraphale shushed him.

“Hush,” Aziraphale said, “I’m about to begin.”

Aziraphale then cleared his throat, “Baruch atah hashem eloheinu melech haolam hamotzi lechem min haaretz.”

Crowley was still, “Uh, Aziraphale? Did you just…did you just say the blessing over _challah **[8]**_ over my cock?”

“It is traditional to say a blessing before a meal,” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly.

Crowley was almost at a loss for words. Almost. “Angel, first of all, I don’t know if this counts as a meal, and that’s a blessing over bread, you _never_ pray before you eat and you eat all the time and also _you aren’t even Jewish!_ ”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with smug grin, “Of course it counts as a meal, and would you prefer I say Grace? I’m technically not Christian either.”

Crowley started to grumble some more when Aziraphale took Crowley’s cock into his mouth and Crowley keened instead.

“Ah-Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale smirked around Crowley’s cock and pulled back a bit, leaving a trail of saliva as he laved attention on the head. He kissed and sucked his way back down to the base until his nose was nestled in the hair in Crowley’s crotch. The tip of Crowley’s cock hit the back of his throat and he swallowed, causing contractions in the walls of his throat that sent waves of pleasure through Crowley.

Aziraphale pulled off Crowley with a wet pop and licked his lips, swallowing Crowley down again before the demon could get a word in edgewise. Crowley gasped, gripping the sheets of the bed tightly. Aziraphale swirled his tongue around the head and wrapped his hand around the base of Crowley’s cock. As he sucked, he pumped the base with one hand, and reached underneath Crowley with the other to fondle his balls. Aziraphale wanted to touch – he wanted to taste – every bit of Crowley. If he could have manifested more hands he would have. He wanted to hold Crowley tightly and give him everything. All the pleasure, all the love, all he ever wanted of anything.

Aziraphale began glowing gently as the force of his love struck Crowley through his cock. It ran up through his body like a lightning bolt, and Crowley howled. He felt pressure building and tried to pull back, but Aziraphale reached up and held him down by the hips.

“Auh-auh-angel! I’m not gonna…not gonna last! Pl-please!”

Aziraphale doubled down in his efforts to make Crowley come. He hollowed out his cheeks as love and lust consumed him, filling the room with a heavy, romantic tension. Crowley breathed deeply and absorbed everything his angel had to give him, and more. He could feel everything.

Aziraphale’s angelic essence reached out, grasping, until it clung on to Crowley’s demonic one. In the metaphysical plane they danced, reaching and reaching and clinging and clinging until they were unable to distinguish who was Crowley and who was Aziraphale.

On the mortal plane Crowley was crying. He had never felt before, never so much. His body stung with holy energy, but he had never felt so loved and so known.

Aziraphale hummed and Crowley felt him say, “I love you,” and that was all it took.

Crowley cried out and came down Aziraphale’s throat as his essence crashed back down into his body. His vision went white and his ears were ringing. Someone was saying, “Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale…” over and over and it took him a moment to realize it was him.

As Crowley came back to himself, he saw Aziraphale still on his knees between Crowley’s legs, smiling softly. Making grabby hands, Crowley pulled Aziraphale to him and kissed the angel gently on the lips.

“I love you, too,” he murmured.

Aziraphale twittered nervously, “I hope that was satisfactory, I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing and I just wanted to show you how much I love you and…”

Crowley cut him off with another kiss.

“Aziraphale,” he said, “If that’s what a service is like, you can take me to snurch anytime.”

Aziraphale gaped at Crowley for a moment before grinning delightedly. “Of…of course! Anytime!”

Crowley smirked, and pulled Aziraphale on top of him, laying back on the bed. “Then how about now? Ready for another sermon?”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley soundly and pulled back to a dazed look on his lover’s face. “Anything for you.”

“Blessed by an angel…” Crowley mumbled wonderingly, and Aziraphale kissed him again.

“The most pious of them all,” Aziraphale said solemnly, before breaking out into a grin and pressing Crowley into the mattress, “And I take my role in snurch very seriously, I’ll have you know.”

“Then prove it,” Crowley challenged with a smirk, and Aziraphale laughed.

“I intend to.”

And as the sun set on a little house in the South Downs, one could almost hear the newlyweds praying all night long.

[1] Apep is the deity of chaos who is the opponent of Ma’at (light/truth). He takes the form of a giant serpent. He might as well be Crowley, actually – chaotic snek. Whether the priest would believe Apep was the cause of Crowley’s false pharaoh’s inability to enter the temple may not be historically accurate, but it’s convenient, so accept this Jedi Mind Trick: “This is historically accurate and you will not question the author.”

[2] Sacred buildings only came into use in druidic ceremonies under the influence of the Romans. Before that, everything was done in a clearing in the forest. So Crowley is right – for all intents and purposes – it’s just a field that they happen to be using. A field with a giant wicker man full of human sacrifices, but a field nonetheless.

[3] Indeed, many people associate Mormonism with the Church of Latter Day Saints in Utah, but when it was founded by Joseph Smith, it was founded in Fayette, New York. Like the immigrants to America, they had to travel far. But they didn’t travel by ferry, so I can’t use the pun I wanted to use, which was “Ferry on my wayward son,” you know, because finding your way home after a journey is like you’re a wayward child? Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but I thought it was funny.

[4] The Flour Riot of 1837 was a riot over flour. Puts me in mind of the Boston Tea Party, except it was the American people against other Americans, and it wasn’t based on taxes, but instead just price gouging due to artificial scarcity caused by fat cat merchants. So I guess not exactly the same, but there was definitely property destruction!

[5] All dialogue from the Blitz scene is lifted directly from the scene in the show itself. The narration is my own flavor. And either way it’s definitely not plagiarism because I’m basically quoting it and I’m referencing it here. In the notes. It’s just not in MLA or APA or whatever format. And also it’s in a fanfiction which falls under Fair Use in copyright law.

[6] _Payot_ is a Hebrew word, payot referring to the long “sideburns” of Hassidic Jews. Adult Hassidic Jewish men will wear a black hat, especially when out of the house, on top of their _yarmulke_. Pronounced yah-muh-kuh, it is the traditional hard covering for men. _Shul_ , is the Yiddish word for “synagogue” – the Jewish house of worship, and _Shabbos_ is the sabbath. Hopefully this is a new and interesting fact! Source: I, the author, am Jewish and know things. But also I am not Hassidic so she may be wrong about payot. But I know that most shuls are very welcoming.

[7] The organist had not, in fact, been there a moment ago. Neither had the organ, to tell the truth. But when they found themselves, with surprise, at a wedding, they figured they would do what they did best – play. After the ceremony, the organist would find themselves back in their own bedroom, instrument nowhere in sight, and several hundred dollars in their pocket. They decided not to question it.

[8] Challah is tasty bread. Try some at your local kosher bakery.

**Author's Note:**

> And [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2HquPAk16NKO4JH8WjtUSe?si=u2pwsTDbQLyJPJnuNpoiYQ) is a beautiful Spotify Playlist for the fic by doorwaytoparadise!
> 
> We hope you come to worship again.


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